A Seduction in Six Scenes
by lbc
Summary: House wants to get JW in bed with him.


Title: A Seduction in Six Scenes

By: lbc

Pairing: H/W

Rating: R

Summary: Seduction: a scene at a time

Disclaimer: I wish I owned these guys but I don't

Note: Written in celebration of RSL's birthday.

Setting:

The premier diagnostician of PPTH sat slumped on his sofa while his friend, across the room, sat in a large chair looking dazed. The two have had a long day and now sit silently, thinking about . . . whatever.

Scene 1

Gregory House took a sip of his drink and asked that profound question, "What was the boldest thing you've ever done?"

Wilson, also slightly sloshed, looked at his friend as if he didn't quite understand the question but was attempting to answer it anyway. Then a smile, as if in remembrance, crossed the handsome face as he answered, "Smelled my cousin, Rachel's panties."

House, attempting to be cool and appear bored, queried, "Is this the Rachel cousin that you brought to my attention several years ago? You know the one whose real name is Rebecca?"

Wilson grimaced, remembering that incident very well. "No, this is my real cousin, Rachel Samuelson."

House's blue eyes twinkled as he saw the incident in his mind's eye. "How old were you when this all happened?"

"Hmm, well, I was preparing for my Bar Mitzvah so I must have been a very precocious 13."

"How old was this Rachel?"

"Uhh, she was definitely THE OLDER WOMAN in my life; I think she was 15."

"Did you turn on the old Wilson charm to get her to share?"

"Nah, I just told her it was part of the Bar Mitzvah preparation."

Silence reigned as House contemplated that last answer; then his gift for sarcasm poked through the haze of the conversation, "She must not have been too bright."

"Hmm, but she was nice though."

"I'm sure."

"What about you, House? What was your boldest action?"

Without hesitating, House replied between sips of liquor, "Sleeping with this guy twenty years ago."

James Wilson sat there stunned; his cheeks growing red. He was completely tongue-tied so he could only manage one word, "Blabbermouth."

Scene 2

"What do you mean, blabbermouth? You were there."

"House, we haven't mentioned that in twenty years; why now?"

"Cause, I was just thinking . . ."

"I know I'm going to regret this, but what were you thinking?"

"Well, why just settle for sleep when we could have sex, too?"

"Sex, too? House, you know that the only reason that we slept together the last time was because we were so drunk after you got me out of jail that we didn't know what we were doing and . . ."

"You might not have known what you were doing, but I certainly did."

"You . . . you mean that you wanted to sleep with me?"

"Sure . . . was I that vague?"

"House, you were drunk as a skunk and just collapsed on the bed, and, well, so did I."

"And then the next morning, you got up, blow-dried your hair, clipped your toe nails AGAIN, and went home to Woody, the wife."

"I did not - - I thanked you for bailing me out first."

"Yeah, Dr. Silver Tongue - - 'Thank you, Dr. House for spending $5,000 to get me out of the pokey'."

"I didn't say it like that."

Greg House stared at his friend, then slowly lowered the liquor glass and asked, "Well, how about it, want to stay and have sex with me?"

Scene 3

Though James Wilson sat there for several moments in silence, he was not as upset as he thought he should be. This was probably just another one of House's tests to see how far he could push his friend. Knowing that he was drunk, driving was not really an option, it was either get a taxi or stay overnight, but how would House interpret that?

"Okay, but I'll just stay here on the sofa. I'm too drunk to drive home."

House's left eyebrow shot up, "I wouldn't do that if I were you. The sofa is still wet."

"That was months ago, it couldn't still be wet, besides you're sitting on it."

"Yeah, but I know where the secret spot is. I'm going to bed. Join me if you want."

Now the "bold action" was placed squarely on Wilson's shoulders - - what was he going to do?

Suddenly a sheet and blanket hit the younger man in the face. So much for subtlety.

Not exactly trusting the pillow that he had used previously, Wilson made up his bed on the sofa. Never had any cliché ever been so true: 'you've made your bed now lie in it.'

James Wilson did exactly that for ten minutes; then he decided to take another bold action.

Scene 4

House's bedroom was dark, but Wilson could still see the figure hunched under the blankets in the bed. He continued to stand in the doorway, trying to decide what to do. Suddenly, a voice pierced the night.

"How long you going to stand there?"

"I'm trying to decide what to do."

"Maybe you better find your spine first."

"Don't need my spine to do this." Wilson walked over to the side of the bed, just able to see the scruffy face that was looking up at him. Leaning over, the younger man caught House's face between his two palms and gave the barely visible lips a lingering kiss. Standing motionless for several seconds, he released the captured face and walked out of the bedroom, saying nothing.

Returning to the living room, Wilson began to get dressed. His shoes had somehow managed to hide themselves under the sofa so he was forced to bend down to find them. As he rose back up, he felt the presence of another body near by.

Looking at his friend, Greg House's face was inscrutable, but his voice was not. "Why didn't you do that, years ago?"

"You had found Stacey."

"You were married."

In a small whisper, Wilson replied, "I know."

House continued to stand, looking at the lowered head of the man with whom he had shared so much in the last twenty years.

"Come to bed."

Scene 5

House turned without checking to see if Wilson was following. He got into bed and waited. After a few minutes, the darkened figure of James Wilson entered but stopped just inside the door as if trying to decide.

"I think the sun's coming up in another hour or two; you going to get into bed?"

"Why did you take Hector?"

Stupefied, House continued to stare but finally found his voice. "Because I'm a dog lover."

Wilson snorted as if the very idea was so ridiculous that he couldn't keep his breath inside of him. He turned to leave the bedroom.

"Because I . . . because you're my friend."

Wilson stared into the darkness and then nodded. "Right, guess I failed another test."

"What test?"

"Whatever test I'm being judged for this time - - you haven't borrowed any money; I haven't enabled you . . . too much lately; obviously you've got something in mind, but I'm too tired to figure it out. I guess twenty years is enough. Good night, House."

"Can't we just have sex and be good friends?"

Wilson turned slowly trying to adjust his eyesight so that he could see the details in House's face. He was legendary for reading House, but this time, it wasn't that easy. A mistake now could be a mistake that would last forever.

"You've called me a hypocrite, a coward, a wuss, and a lot more, and you're right, I'm all those things, but I can't be bulldozed that easily. You don't trust me, and I don't think it's a good idea to begin this."

"What's wrong with a little sex? We don't have to commit ourselves to anything more than that. You seemed to like it the last time."

"House, we were both drunk, and it was just some rubbing and groping."

"Is that how you see it?"

"If I said yes, I'd be lying." Wilson rubbed his forehead as he often did when he was troubled. It had cost him a great deal to leave House after Amber's death. This was going to cost him more, but it had to be said.

"House, I've been lying for twenty years. A few days ago, I told one of your patients that I was afraid to wash one of Amber's mugs because it would be like I had erased her from my life, and I hadn't been ready to do that."

House was about ready to open his mouth, but some instinct still his usual sarcasm. He waited.

"I did love Amber, and I told her that, but I could never have told her that I was in love with her . . . because I had fallen in love twenty years ago, and I've never forgotten that."

House's eyebrows shot up, "You fell in love with Bonnie?"

A brief sadness entered Wilson's brown eyes as he whispered, "No, you idiot, but I guess it would be too much to expect that you would understand, after all you're not the kind of friend who wants to hear about me, are you?"

"I didn't mean that exactly."

"Yes, you did. You were being honest, and now so am I. You once told me that our friendship mattered more than a patient."

Wilson could see that House remembered that confrontation in his office just before Wilson had left. House's stare slightly unnerved Wilson, but the younger man continued resolutely.

"I . . . I don't want our friendship to matter more to you than a patient; I want me to matter more to you than anything else. I know that's unrealistic so the answer is no to sex because I don't want sex without some affection to go along with it."

The two men stared at each other; the silence growing more burdensome with every second. Finally, Wilson turned and walked out the door.

Scene 6

For a moment Gregory House stood staring at the now empty door. Had he finally pushed his friend too far? He remembered Wilson's words when they had driven to Atlantic City with what's his name, looking for a hoagie - - one day House would push too far and their friendship would break. It had nearly broken over Amber's death; maybe this was the final straw.

The grizzled man limped into the entrance way; his nerves tingling with fear. There sitting on the front stoop, however, was James Wilson, hunched over in despair. After a moment, he whispered, "I must be drunker than I thought; I left my cell and keys in your place."

Unbeknownst to Wilson, House smiled affectionately at his back. After a moment of silence, House whispered hoarsely, "You'd better come in and get them."

As Wilson got up, he remembered the last time that he had sat on House's steps; the dangling stethoscope like a knife in the side. He had thought his friend was having sex in the apartment because this was their agreed upon signal. In fact, it was just another one of House's tests. Throwing his power in Wilson's face had been a big factor in Wilson's leaving when Grace proved so needy.

That chilling moment did not give Wilson much confidence now, but he needed his keys and cell phone so he crossed the threshold. House waited inside, leaning on the side of the sofa. Wilson looked around and found the needed items and went to pick them up. House's blue eyes trailed him across the room and as the younger man seemed intent on heading back out the door, House said, "You're too drunk to drive; let me call a taxi."

Wilson turned to his friend, wary of these words. "I can take care of myself, thanks."

A vague sadness crossed the scruffy face, "I know."

Wilson nodded and once again started for the door.

House looked quizzically at his friend. "Can't you be needy for once?"

Turning Wilson asked, "What are you talking about?"

"You're always needing to be needed; can't you need me to need you?"

"You don't need anybody - - as you've told me so many times."

"Then why did I let you get under my skin; why do I let you stick around; why do I want sex with you?"

"Maybe because I haven't been smart enough to take the hint or maybe because you don't change - - that pattern fits right in with what makes you miserable . . . what do you want from me, House?"

"Maybe I want more than sex from you."

"Maybe?"

"All right, I admit it. I want to make love to you. You've admitted that you 'care' for me . . . can't that be the start of something more?"

Stunned and vaguely whirling, Wilson was not sure how to respond, but he couldn't just fall in with House's plans so easily. He had done that so many times - - even helping the man do a little B & E in a patient's home.

Wilson felt as if he was losing control of the whole situation, but he had to try, "Why . . . why would you want to do that? That might mean commitment or something?"

"I don't want to lose you . . . again."

Confusion filled Wilson's mind. Did House mean when he had walked away for four months or what? But House was continuing to talk and suddenly Wilson heard something that chilled him to the core.

"I . . . don't want you to hate me. I've never wanted that. I told that to Amber once, but she said I had to chance it."

"When did you tell her that?" A very real bleakness filled the oncologist as that scene played out in his mind.

House looked at him as if he were remembering the scene himself as well as not really understanding the question. After a moment, he replied, "I . . . I told her on the bus."

"The bus . . . why did you think I would hate you then?"

I didn't mean that. I thought I talked to her, and she wouldn't let me stay on the bus."

"When was this?"

"When I was dead."

"Dead?"

House nodded; he looked totally exhausted and bereft of life. "It was so bright . . . I wanted to stay on the bus; there was no pain for the first time in a long time, and I didn't want you to hate me, but she wouldn't let me stay."

James Wilson said nothing; he couldn't, so he stood staring at the worn-out man who had occupied his life for the last twenty years.

Finally, House stood up and limped into his bedroom; his body practically dragging itself across the room. The living room became silent; Wilson could hear his own breathing. What was he going to do now? Suddenly, he remembered House in the reception room while his father's funeral was taking place. Those shouted words kept blazing through Wilson's brain, "You didn't want to lose me." It was true; even after all the unhappiness that had happened, James Wilson could not stand to lose Greg House.

His decision made for him, Wilson walked to the door of the bedroom and began removing his clothing. It was useless to fight when he was so exhausted. He needed a good night's sleep, and he sure wouldn't get it on the sofa, but what would he get from getting in bed with House?

Nothing moved on the bed, but as Wilson got closer, House folded the covers back so that Wilson could lie down. Carefully, the younger man got into bed, lying supine and almost rigid . . . for all of one minute. Then, the warm body of Greg House moved closer as he laid his head on the pillow that Wilson rested on. Wilson felt a brief touch of whiskery lips touch his temple and then retreat. He thought he heard the ghostly whisper, "Thanks," but was too tired to investigate as he slid into oblivion as soon as he closed his eyes.

House lay quietly near James Wilson's warm body. The musk of the man was fantastic. He knew that this was one small victory, but he had his friend in his bed. Maybe there would be sex and maybe there wouldn't, but, at least, his campaign had been successful so far. Wilson was back where he should be.

The End


End file.
